Faithful Son
by androidilenya
Summary: Celebrimbor's renunciation of Curufin and his father's reaction. Also starring Maedhros and Caranthir as those random brothers that Curufin gets to complain to.


**I own nothing. The Silmarillion and all related characters, settings, themes, etc. belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.  
**

**Well, here we go again. Another Fëanorian fic.**

**Curufin and Celebrimbor (Tyelperinquar, Tyelpe), set during the story of Beren and Luthien. Then Curufin with his brothers. **

* * *

When he saw the familiar shape of his son, standing outside the stables where the Feanorians kept their horses, Curufin allowed himself to hope for a few more seconds. Of all their people, Celebrimbor would remain faithful. Of couse he would. He would follow his father even as Curufin had followed Fëanor.

_And thus the cycle of death shall never be broken, _something in him whispered. He shook that off.

But what was that light in Celebrimbor's eyes colder and harder than the ice of the Helcaraxë? What was that look, so familiar in other faces but so out of place on his son's?

_(betrayal)_

"So, you will come with us?" Celegorm's voice was loud as he spoke from beside Curufin, words still full of the heat it had held in Finrod's hall when he had failed to convince the others to follow him. Celebrimbor barely spared his uncle a glance before turning to his father.

"I'm sorry, Father. This journey I will not accompany you on."

_But you can't leave now, after so long..._ A childish thought, but insistent. The words were so unexpected, so _wrong_, that all Curufin could do for a few seconds was stand there and stare at his son, the Elf that was suddenly a stranger.

"Why?" Curufin finally asked. Distantly, he noted that Celegorm had moved away into the stables, giving the father and son some privacy in an uncharacteristically thoughtful gesture.

"I cannot continue to follow you in your madness. This Oath is not mine. I will not throw my life away for something that belongs solely to you and your brothers."

"It _is_ yours." He drew himself up, a confident smile curving his lips. "The blood of Fëanor flows in your veins as it does mine. The Silmarils-"

"The Silmarils!" Celebrimbor spat the word out as though it were a curse, and that hatred shocked Curufin to silence. "The Silmarils and that thrice-damned Oath you spoke! You and your brothers use your Oath as a justification for all the evils you have done, yet you shrink from fulfilling it!"

"Morgoth is-"

"Morgoth is too strong," his son mocked, taking the words spoken by Curufin time and again and warping them. "Too _strong_, you say, but if all the might of the Noldor was gathered - if you and your brothers did not allow your stiff necks to get in the way of real good - then Thangorodrim would almost certainly fall. But you delay and slaughter your own kin, ignoring the possibility that there might be something more important than your thricedamned _Oath_."

"There is nothing more important than that. _Nothing. _You know not what you speak of."

"Don't I?"

The father narrowed his eyes. "You deny that the call of the Silmarils is in your blood. If you saw them but once-"

_If you saw the fire, you wouldn't be able to resist. I know this._

"I do not feel the same drive as you and your brothers do, Father. And I am bound by no Oath."

Something flickered in Curufin's eyes as his son's words called back the memory of that oath - sworn by the name of Ilúvatar, calling upon the Everlasting Darkness should they break it. This was the Oath he dreamed of, these were the words that haunted his dreams and shadowed his waking life.

"An oath which none shall break, and none should take, they said. And they were right."

"Tyelpe-" Curufin began, but the words died in his throat. He didn't know what to say to his son (had never known).

"You are a blind fool, bound by your Oath. It drags you down the path to hell and you follow, insisting that every step into the darkness is your own and no other's. You cannot even _see_ the hold the Oath has on you." And was that pleading in the son's voice, as though he wanted his father to see reason?

_The hold the Oath has on me... say rather the hold my father has on me. Were it not for him..._

"Faithless son, to speak so." Curufin narrowed his eyes, a coldness there like cracking ice, like betrayal. "We swore that Oath for the love of our father and the works of his hands. We came to Middle-earth, exiles of Valinor, to wage war on Morgoth to fulfill that Oath. And now you would renounce this heritage?"

"What heritage? The killing of kin by kin, perhaps? The betrayal of family? I will have no part in my father's blood-stained legacy." Celebrimbor's voice was hot, angry. "The Curse of Mandos may never be lifted. Evil follows you and your brothers, father. I wish to have no part in evil."

"Then you have none of the filial love that led us to accompany our father."

"I do love you, father." Celebrimbor looked away, biting his lip. "But I will not follow you to my doom and the doom of my people."

* * *

"Does anyone deserve this? To be renounced even by your own son, your own flesh and blood?" Curufin's face, so like his father's, was twisted with anger colder than ice. His hands were knotted behind his back, tendons standing out on his strong, forge-scarred arms as he clenched his fists, struggling to contain his fury. Maedhros watched his brother's torment with an unreadable expression.

"Ones such as us, perhaps," the eldest brother whispered as though to himself. "Ones such as the sons of Fëanor, with our blood-stained hands. Is it really any surprise to you that Tyelperinquar would want to renounce that?"

"I did not come here to hear you speak thus, Nelyo," Curufin growled, face transfigured into the mask of a snarling beast in a heartbeat. "I heard enough of that from the crawling worm who calls himself my son. We were _right_ to swear that oath. And we will fulfill it. Even if it costs all of our lives, we _will_ fulfill it."

_And it will be worth it, to die for family and sworn word and the Silmarils._

This he believed with every iota of his being. This he _had_ to believe, or it would have all be for nothing all along. And that was something he could not allow himself to even consider.

"Curvo?" Maedhros reached for his younger brother, a conciliatory expression on his face, but Curufin stepped back, eyes blazing.

"That Oath is our lives. It is all we have. And that is a _good_ thing." He spun and swept from the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"Nelyo told me you left Nargothrond. Did you forget to bring Tyelpe along?"

Curufin ignored his brother, preferring to continue to stare out the window at the forest below. Caranthir watched him, a mirthless smile spreading across his face.

"What went wrong? Why couldn't my little brother, the one _so good_ at manipulation... why couldn't he get his own _son_ to follow him?" Caranthir was grinning now, wolf like. "Looks like Celebrimbor isn't that bad of a kid after all, if he finally decided you weren't worth it."

"Don't call him that," Curufin muttered, even though he knew that his brother had been fishing for that exact reaction.

"What, Celebrimbor? It's the name he prefers, as far as I can tell."

"I named him what I named him. Don't replace that with some Sindarin bastardization." He said the word as though it were a curse - Sindarin. The language of this new world, the one where the father was dead and the sons were outcasts, forsaken, oath-driven. _  
_

"Doesn't matter now, I suppose," Caranthir replied harshly. "He's gone, like the rest of them. Betrayed us. That seems to be happening a lot, lately." He snorted. "You know, I'm starting to think that Nelyo _likes_ getting betrayed. He seems to think he deserves it, for some reason. I wonder why that would be?"

Curufin frowned and didn't reply. _Maybe it has something to do with that little kinslaying incident. Or perhaps those ships that got burned - not that he played a part in that, how noble of him. Maitimo always did have that unfortunate habit of developing a conscience right at the last minute._

"What will you do now? You hardly seem the type to sit around and weep for what was lost. Maybe I could get our dear brother to compose a song for you?"

"That won't be necessary." Curufin pushed away from the railing, turned to face his brother. "Moryo..." He trailed off, not even sure what he had been about to say. That seemed to be happening more and more, recently.

"What?"

"Nothing." _Do you remember how the ships burned, Moryo? And Tyelpe - my son, my only son - helped us light them though our own brother did not? I thought he would be like me, just like his father._

"If you say so." Caranthir shrugged. "I'll let you be, now. It's not as though you ever really enjoyed my company."

Curufin watched his brother leave. He wondered where his son was now - what Tyelpe was doing. Did he even care that his father had been chased from Nargothrond, humiliated by a mere _Man_? Or was he happy now, free from the shadow that the House of Fëanor lived under?

_If ever I see you again, Tyelpe..._

He left that thought unfinished, like so much else in his life. For some reason, he doubted that he would meet his son again in Middle-earth.

* * *

**~end~**

**Reviews are appreciated.**


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